home

It was, perhaps, with a stroke of foresight beyond that of regular humans that jenny Harris and Jane Higgins suggested I choose a uni not far from home. Don’t get me wrong, I love uni, and see myself as at least semi independent of my parents, but there are instances where I need the surety of my birthplace and the two brilliant people therein.

Last night I had difficulty plugging my chair in. I just could not do it. The plug just would not make contact. After an hour of trying,, I gave up, lest I damage the ‘pod’. I was concerned about it, so I emailed dad. Later on, I was doing some reading in the canteen, when who should come striding through the door but m father? He was, as it turns out, able to plug the chair in first time (making me feel very guilty).. nevertheless, he offered to take me home for Sunday lunch.

After subsiding on canteen food and pizza for three weeks, nothing tastes as good as mum’s roast beef, or passing a blissful afternoon in the conservatory reading the papers. The cultural reviews in the Sunday times may be superficial when compared to the heavy theory I’m used to these days, but they take me back to countless Sunday afternoons, and to simpler times. Home is where part of me will always belong; it is where I know I’ll always be welcome, and that knowledge makes the world even brighter.

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